


Masquerade

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Festivals, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is not a woman I have ever met, a remnant of another man's life, perhaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a random pairings thread on the kink meme.

This is not a part of New Orleans I have ever been to. I vaguely remember journeying here, at Aveline's request, but there seems to be a festival of some sort, something she did not mention. There are coloured lanterns and masks everywhere, and even the canals are decorated with flowers and floating lights.   
  
When I see her, I know her name immediately, as if she were a childhood friend. Something in me wonders where I met her before, and how I can recognise her with her face hidden. Those questions are met with memories of her pale olive throat exposed beneath my scarred lips in a dark Firenze alley.  
  
"Cristina," I murmur to her, and there is something different about my voice.   
  
"My love," she murmurs back, and suddenly our lips meet and her tongue is flickering against mine and I cannot help but notice how lovely her perfume is, and how pleasing her shape is beneath her dainty gown. I have waited so long to see her again, and I groan as her hands stray lower and lower until they meet my hips.  
  
"I missed you," I gasp, breaking the kiss for breath. She smiles at me and her fingertips trace small circles over my arousal.  
  
"And I you," she replies. "I am glad you came to Venezia."   
  
Her beautiful, slender hands grasp my own and she leads me down a deserted side street, then down an alley, and we settle in an alcove for a more intimate reunion.   
  
She is hot and tight and wet, and her skirts hike up as she wraps her long, lovely legs around my naked hips. I am thankful the alcove is so small, for I can lean back against the wall and let her do what she wills. Cristina has always liked control. Soon, all too soon, the friction becomes too much and just before my eyes flutter shut and I see stars, I hear her voice whimpering in my ear.  
  
"Please don't leave me."  
  
I open my eyes. There are no lights or festivals, just faint echoes of drunkards in the streets of New Orleans. I am alone in my rented bed, though I can faintly smell perfume. I grimace at the uncomfortable stickiness in my sheets, smearing over my skin.   
  
I squeeze my eyes shut and hope for sleep to claim me once more, not merely so I will be well-rested when dawn arrives. A part of me hopes to walk the streets of Italy once again, to see the woman. The woman with carefully coiled hair and delicious painted lips. The woman I am sure I have not met before, a remnant of another man's life, perhaps. The woman whose name has slipped my mind like sand through fingers.


End file.
